


Like the Shine of Long-Extinguished Stars

by Sherlockian_87



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mentions of Death, season 4 compliant, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockian_87/pseuds/Sherlockian_87
Summary: A broken man stood before her. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Her name was a whisper on his lips. It seemed to be all that he was capable of. She placed her hand on his arm, leading him into her flat. He followed her blindly, allowing her to take him wherever she pleased.





	Like the Shine of Long-Extinguished Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaybeItsJustMyType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeItsJustMyType/gifts).



> This was not an easy story for me to write.
> 
> The idea was roaming around in my head for a couple of months, but I kept putting off starting it because I knew how hard it would be for me to write it.
> 
> This isn’t a happy fic, it deals with parental loss and grief. I channeled a lot of my own grief into this, and I suppose it’s a rather odd choice for a memorial fic but I needed to write out my sadness. At least in some way.
> 
> I’m not one to really write sad or angsty fics. I tend to like to focus on fluff and romance. I have a few times though written a sad fic, and one in particular I wrote last year in January focused on the death of Mary in season 4. Sweets left a comment on it that still resonates with me today:
> 
> _“...sad fic but at the same time there was that glimmer of hope at the end that gave a sense that with time things be okay again, albeit in a different way; Mary would not be forgotten but the grief would become somewhat bearable.”_  
>     
> The loss of Sweets has left a gaping hole in my heart, and I’m still coming to terms with the fact that she is gone. Writing this story though, did help in a way, and I hope that if any of you are still struggling that this may help you too.  
>    
>  _Happy Birthday Sweets, I miss you, I love you. I won’t ever forget you._

 

* * *

Molly rolled onto her back, blinking blearily into the darkness, wondering what it was that had pulled her from her sleep. It was only moments later that she realized it was the vibration of her phone.

“I could have sworn I shut that blasted feature off!” she grumbled as she reached out for her mobile. “ _Oh_ .” She exhaled a breath when she read the all-too-familiar name on the screen. “Of course _he_ would be able to bypass that.” She tapped the screen to answer it. “Mycroft?”

_“I must apologize for waking you at such a late hour, but this is of the utmost importance.”_

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up. “Has something happened with Sherlock?”

Mycroft took in a breath before slowly releasing it. _“Something has happened to the both of us. But I fear that it has affected him far more than it has affected me.”_

Molly waited patiently, noting the emotional strain in his tone. Iceman indeed.

_“Our mother has died.”_

Molly exhaled sharply. “Oh God.”

 “ _This is a danger night, Molly. I don’t know what Sherlock is going to do. But from the security footage I have seen, he appears to be on his way to you.”_

 “Ok. I’ll-I’ll be ready for him.”

 There was a pregnant pause.

“Mycroft I …I’m so--,” her voice cracked.

_“Thank you, Molly.”_

The line went dead and her hand dropped to her lap. She stared blindly at her mobile, picturing Sherlock strolling about London, in who knows what sort of state. She fought back tears, her own remembrance of the first waves of grief when her father died coming back to her. After a few moments she took in a shaky breath, followed by several more sturdy ones. She needed to be strong now, she needed to be strong for Sherlock.

Slipping out from beneath her sheet and blanket she placed her phone back on the nightstand, and pulled on a pair of nearby socks, before grabbing up her dressing gown. Not knowing how much time she had before he arrived she walked out into the sitting room to wait. Toby was curled up on the sofa, and her entering the room woke him. He raised his head, letting out a soft chirp. She moved towards him and buried her face in his fur.

 “Give me strength Toby,” she murmured, and he started to purr.

Moments later there was a knock on her door. Sherlock _never_ knocked. He always picked the lock, or used the key she had given him. Her heart beat fast as she moved towards the door. She undid the locks and opened it, revealing Sherlock to her.

 A broken man stood before her. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Her name was a whisper on his lips. It seemed to be all that he was capable of. She placed her hand on his arm, leading him into her flat. He followed her blindly, allowing her to take him wherever she pleased.

Upon entering her bedroom she helped him out of his Belstaff, draping it over a chair, before removing his suit jacket as well. When she moved to begin to unbutton his shirt he reached up with his hands, covering hers with his own.

“Molly I--my mo--” he struggled to get the words out. 

She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “I know, Sherlock.”

He swallowed, accepting that she knew without a hint of surprise. His hands dropped back down to his sides and she finished unbuttoning his shirt, and pulled it off of him.

“I can-I can do the rest,” he managed to get out.

“Ok.”

She moved over to her bed and sat down on the edge, watching him. This was an entirely different man to the Sherlock she was accustomed to seeing. It was almost as if she was watching a stranger. But it didn’t shock her in the slightest; she had been witness to such a change before in someone else, including herself.

When Sherlock was done, standing only in his pants, she held out her hand to him and said, “Come lay down.”

They stretched out side by side beneath the covers, facing each other.

“Do you need anything?” she asked him.

He slid his hand forward, taking up hers and lacing their fingers together. “Just you,” he replied.

“You have me,” she told him.

He nodded briefly before giving her hand the slightest of tugs. She moved closer and he curled into her arms, settling his head upon her chest. Neither one of them spoke for some time. Sherlock held on to her as if she were a beacon of light upon a stormy sea.

More time passed, the silence reverberating around them. She thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep, lulled by the beating of her heart, until suddenly he spoke.

“Does the pain ever stop?” he questioned.

Molly took in a steadying breath, her eyes filling with tears as she replied, “No. Not entirely. But eventually after a time it will become bearable, a dull ache, until suddenly this devastating awareness washes over you without any warning whatsoever, and it hits you that they are in fact _gone_.”

Her voice shook, tears flowing freely as she continued, “It could be anything that triggers it, a certain smell that you’ve always associated with them, an item of clothing you happen to come across, a piece of jewelry, a book they loved, or even someone you see on the street that looks so much like them. These moments are the worst, of course they are, but if you can, you power through, and if you can’t, that’s perfectly all right.” She felt Sherlock’s hold on her tighten slightly. “There’s no expiration date on grieving. And there’s no shame in crying because you miss her so much. Being sad is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sherlock breathed out shakily. “I forgot Victor. I rewrote my own memories,” his voice was raw, strained. “I don’t want to forget my mother.”

She smoothed her hand down his back. “You won’t Sherlock, not entirely. Yes, you may eventually forget what her voice sounded like, or her laugh, but you’ll still remember her. I know somewhere within that Mind Palace of yours, locked away, is a multitude of memories of her. She’s alive inside of you Sherlock, I know she is, because you loved her just as much as she loved you.”    

“I didn’t protect her, I didn’t save her, just like I didn’t save Mary,” he stated, his voice cracking.

Molly felt her shirt grow damp with his tears. “Sherlock, you can’t save everyone. It’s just not possible. Mary made her choice. And your mother … sometimes there’s nothing we can do to save the ones we love, sometimes--sometimes as difficult as it is to understand and accept, sometimes people’s lives are cut short, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. All that we can do is remember them, love them, and honour their memory.”

She tightened her hold on him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I don’t like feeling like this,” he said slowly.

“I know.”

“How do I make it hurt less?” he questioned. “How long will it be before the pain goes away?”

She laid her cheek upon the top of his head. “Some people recover quicker than others, get over it, move on. Some take longer, may never fully get over it, and that’s fine. We all battle on through our grief in any way that we can.

“And there will, of course, be people that will tell you, say to you repeatedly, ‘Oh she’s in a better place now’, having no idea what little comfort that may actually be giving you, if any comfort at all. You’ll want to shout, ‘What better place for her is there than here with me?’ But you won’t, because you know how horribly selfish that makes you sound. There’s nothing wrong with that though, there’s nothing wrong with wanting her back.” 

She paused for a moment. “You can’t let your sadness define you, Sherlock. You have to remind yourself that there are people here who love you and need you. Remember her, keep her in your heart, but allow yourself to continue on. It’s what she would want … she wouldn’t want you to give up, to stop living just because--just because she has.”

Sherlock raised his head and Molly’s gaze met his. She could see the faint tracks that the tears he had shed had left behind. Reaching up, she gently cradled his head in her hands.

“It won’t be easy, it never is,” she said softly, “but I’ll be here for you Sherlock, every step of the way. You’re not alone.”

He pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her neck. “Thank you, Molly,” he murmured softly. “I know I can get through this with you by my side.”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> _People you love never die … They don’t die. Not completely. They live in your mind, the way they always lived inside you. You keep their light alive. If you remember them well enough, they can still guide you, like the shine of long-extinguished stars could guide ships in unfamiliar waters. If you stop mourning them, and start listening to them, they still have the power to change your life. They can, in short, be salvation.”_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Matt Haig


End file.
